What? It means Merry Christmas & Happy New Year in Pompementaeu. Which is what they speak on the island of Bonaire. It's a small island right above Venezuela and sort of in between Arruba and Curacao. And it's where my Mom lives. They moved there about three years ago and I get the added bonus of "having" to go visit my Mom in the Caribbean. Damn, life's not fair.
So, while I everyone is suffering the fall out from the nasty weather in the states, I am soaking up the sun and SCUBA diving in the most beautiful waters in the Caribbean. (Bonaire is the #1 voted Caribbean dive spot). Yeah, it sucks to be me, I know.
I will return with my new and improved blogging after the first week in January. Just wanted to wish everyone a safe & Happy New Year!
Monday, December 22, 2008
Holy Hot Rocks, Batman! It was a little over a year ago that I started blogging. Admittedly, I was much funnier in the beginning and my rants have gone down the tubes over the last few months, but I do intend to make a come back. I will be funny again! I will learn to over come Blogspot's crappy formatting. I will figure out how to get The Internet Sensation that is Dr. Zibbs to read my blog. I have survived my first semester of teaching, becoming more than poor, and a year so close to hell the only thing I can say is "Damn, I'm hot!" (Double meaning intended :-)
Now I can focus my somewhat limited attention span on bigger and better blog offerings. Hell, I might even learn to proof-read my writing more than once.
In honor of (and seriously people, we should all be honoring moi) my first year of blogging, I return to where it all began: the first post. Below is the karmic moment when wine, whining and writing all fell into place:
Seriously people. Two Buck Chuck and the internet at 2 a.m. are never a good mix. Actually, most decisions made at 2 a.m. are never good ones. I mean who has ever stood in front of the ATM in the middle of the night, getting cash to support something they were not going to regret the next time they woke up?
2 a.m. + decisions = BAD MIX.
OK, so it was really around midnight, but whatever.... about a empty Chuck bottle latter, I thought e-mailing would be a great idea and wasn't NOW the appropriate time to catch up with all my chickas. After all, I had been out of the country and they had little-to-no contact with me. And weren't they just dying to know what was going on in MY little piece of the world.
Thus at midnight I am clicking away at my contact list and in my drunken haze clicked the e-mail of my recently Ex-dating "relationship".
Note to self: Once dumped remove e-mail, phone number, website and all other possible ways of contacting said "ex" from all things electronic/digital/technological.
After raging on them to get SCUBA certified so that we can commander the high seas as SCUBA Chicks next year, and updating them on my current work/lack of work situation, I move on to the big topic: my getting dumped 12 days before I turn a "certain" age. See Exert Below:
"Well, I have slowed down a bit on the break-up crying. I mean, he did have the worst timing...12 days before I turn ##. Thanks. Insult to injury. Positive side: I do think this qualifies me for an emergency botox. The bummer part is that I really must have liked this guy more than I thought (or I have the world's most RAGING case of PMS) because all I want to do it crawl under a rock and try to figure out what is so wrong with me that a really smart, nice, funny (and for me cute) 45-yr-old divorcee with grown kids and graying hair (that I found to be really sexy) would dump me...He gave me the same lines we all get. The "I can't give you what you want" - which I find interesting because he never asked me what I wanted. That was
followed by the "he doesn't deserve me" line. Really, did he stomp on baby kittens in a past life and dating me was some sort of special hell reserved for Kitten stompers, Dante's political enemies and Caiaphas?? What did he "deserve"? Sharon Stone? But as difficult as it has been, I have been respectful of his decision. I have been good and not e-mailed, called or texted him...out of respect for his wants. Can't say it has been easy...especially since A---- and I have managed to inhale an entire bottle (or so) of wine between the two of us tonight as I was writing this up. It was so much easier when all we had to worry about was the drunk-dialing from the cordless phone at home. Or paging him 600-million times...remember when pagers where in? :-) Now you practically have to lock yourself in the loo in order to avoid any possibility that you could get some drunken message out."
Which is apparently what I needed to do...because he got the e-mail!! Spent the next day wording carefully phrased apologetic e-mail to said EX, then deleting name, number, e-mail, web-page and anything else that could possibly lead to accidental contact from all things electronic. And nursing headache, and bruised pride...again.
This people is the introduction to what I have labeled Lisa-tastrophies. Those lovely little life events that only seem to happen once in a person's life but for some reason appear almost daily in mine. I would love to say I wasn't bitter, but OH PLEASE!!! I went an entire year thinking that CNN was announcing daily that the world was indeed out to get me and that everyone was in on it but me. Since my friends tell me I need to write a book about these little Lisa-tastrophies, I thought I would try my hand at the blog. Maybe it will serve as a warning to the rest of the world that if you are a royal B*&% to the oh-so-badly-dressed lady at the Nordstrom's shoe rack and tell her that you are indeed SHOPPING there while she is WORKING there;* that life will come back and karma kick you in the @$$. So here's my chance to chronicle them all.
*more on that story latter...and yes, she did deserve it...and yes, she did get canned....and yes, I did get the best pair of perfect black pumps on sale for 40% off plus an extra 10% for my troubles.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Last week I went to church. Yes, I went in the building and No, it did not catch on fire. Lightening bolts did not hit the roof and the pits of Hell did not open to devour me. Although I did manage to scare the crap out a little old man when I accidently walked in the men's room. Since I think that was what he was there for in the first place, that doesn't count.
After the pre-ordained* hour of listening to our Pastor telling us about the meaning of having a giving heart, the Christmas season, and being charitable to others, it was time to go.
I got into my car and proceeded to start backing out of my parking spot. Now, before I started backing out, I did my safety checks. I looked Left Behind** ~ check. I looked Right Behind ~ check. And I looked straight behind ~ oohhh nice Aaasss..... Uh, Check. I even fixed my lipstick in the rear view mirror before I completely committed to putting the gear in the reverse position.
Now, I took driver's education about the time that law makers started requiring set belts to be worn all the time, so my knowledge on the legality of the speed limit in a church parking lot might be a little hazy. However, I did take defensive driving a few months ago and now know the laws regarding the right of way. (And yes, I know the legality of driving 10 miles over the posted speed limit on the interstate, thank you very much Mr. I-Would-Give-A-Ticket-To-My-Own-Mother-Police-Officer.)
Anyway, I am about 2/3rds of the way out of my parking spot when this Soccer-Mom-Pimped-Out SUV comes hauling ass around the corner and slams on the brakes. By this time I am fully committed to getting out of my parking spot and was not about to throw it into drive just to tuck my Toyota totin' butt out of her way. Especially since I have THE LAW on my side. Yep, thanks to my newly minted defensive driving knowledge, I know I have the right of way in this situation. Check it people, once you are over half way out of the parking spot, Ms. Soccer-Mom-SVU has to wait on you! So there!!!
When I continue with my reversing process, Ms. I-Go-To-Church-And-Am-Obviously-A-Much-Better-Christian-Than-You proceeds to lay on the horn and flip me the bird!!!!! Wellllllll, isn't that sssspeciahhhhhhhl!! Being the much better person (of course), I just smiled, waved and mouthed "Merry Christmas............
B*tch" as I finished pulling out and drove out of sight.***
* Oh here I go, getting funny... Get it? Pre ordained Pastor. Somebody stop me.
**Get it???!!! Oh Christianity & Armageddon humor is too much
***Let's just say I am a work in progress on that whole being good to ALL God's creatures.
Friday, December 19, 2008
As Promised Several Blogs Ago......
When I was coming back from the second best holiday EVER...
~ The BEST holiday EVER was the year I spent Christmas with my less than favorite side of the family. The night before, BFF & I had engaged in our now annual Christmas Eve Sushi Feast and I had gone to the liquor store in order to stock up on Santa's Little Helpers (Jim, Jack and Smirnoff). I was three feet from the liquor store door when I slammed my hand in the car door. (So close, yet so far away. Story of my life!) I got to spend the next four hours in the ER with a fat-assed nurse who could not be bothered to get me some ice and a man who wanted a tetanus shot for a cut he had received three days earlier. The ER doctor was obviously less than please to be working the holidays and dosed me with enough pain killers to keep Rush Limbaugh happy for a few years. What made this the BEST holiday EVER was that I got to spend the entire Christmas Day drooling on myself, demonstrating that hand-eye coordination is not key to demolishing freshly wrapped gifts, and generally getting away with telling the less-than-favorite-family-members what I REALLY thought about them; then getting to blame it all on the drug induced haze. Loved it!!
Anyway, back to the Second Best Holiday Ever. Which was brought about in part by my Dad's superior Apple Martini making skills. After spending a few days with the family and my shaken-not-stirred new friend, I was headed home via the Houston Intercontinental Airport. I had decided to sit apart from the crowd at the gate when I looked down and saw a pair of black eyes and whiskers poking out from under a newspaper. WHAT THE??!?!?!?!!?
It was a little mouse. No shit!! A mouse. In the middle of a major international airport. A small, grey colored, cute as a button, little field mouse. Complete with whiskers and a little tail that were moving like he was in the great quake of 1906. How in the world he got there, I have no idea, but he defiantly took a wrong turn somewhere in the maze. And now this little guy was shaking for dear life under a chair in the Continental gate 23 lounge of Houston Bush International Airport. About the same time that I noticed Mr. Jingles, Bubba the Redneck comes running up to him like he is going to stomp the living daylights out of the poor mouse. I mean, this man was hell bent on doing something to this poor mouse.
Now, anyone will tell you that Ms. Tastrophie is a softy for the furry. Not so much for people. Especially not so much for people who don't have a soft for the furry. And had Bubba gone through with his mouse stomping plans, Ms. Tastrophie would have been spending the end of her Thanksgiving break in a Houston jail cell. (And I do NOT look good in orange!)
Since Bubba was on a mission, I quickly got up and scooped up Mr. Jingles and whisked him over to my seat. After a few minutes of soothing whispers and gentle stroking, I tried to figure out what to do with this newest edition to my travel plans. I think there was a little divine intervention for Mr. Jingles, since I just happen to have a little plastic container to put him in. (Gammie had packed me a lunch for my trip; thus the container.) Although I think the excitement might have been a bit much for the poor fellow. He was scared stiff and looked like he was going to die from fear alone, not Bubba's size 22 boot.
After a few minutes of pleading with the nice man from customer service, Mr. J was on his way to the field outside the airport. At least that is what I made the man swear to me was going to happen. I did not want ~ and do not want~ to know if Mr. J was going to meet any other fate. (I would have brought him home, but Elsa would have made it a very short homecoming for Mr. Jingles and I think he preferred the fields anyway.)
I'd like to think that Mr. Jingles is now off somewhere in the green fields of Houston Intercontinental Airport. Maybe with his own little Cirque du Souris. And if Karma likes to give it out to others, like she has been givin' it to me lately, Bubba is experiencing a few little boot stompings himself.
P.s. for my germaphobic readers: YES, I washed my hands. And used the Purell.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
As some of you know, my life has gone through some really big changes in the past year. The biggest one comes from a change of careers and the income that comes with that change. Basically I went from trying to keep up with the Joneses to trying to figure out how I am going to make $50 last three weeks when I still have bills to pay.
Last week I had a nasty viral infection that spread across my face like wild-fire (from the left bottom corner of my mouth, across my lower lip to the right upper corner of my eye.) It wasn't pretty and could have caused blindness if it had spread into my eye. The doctor was nice enough to send mega drug prescriptions to the pharmacy for me. Mega drug prescriptions that come with a mega drug price and no generic equivalent. I get paid once a month. I bring this up because once I have paid everything I can for the month, I am rarely left with more than $200 to pay for food, gas and anything else Murphy decides throws at me during the remaining 29-30 days of the month. This month, I had about $100 left and Murphy is having a field day throwing curve balls at me. This was only one of his pitches. Got to love Murphy and his timing.
I go to pick up the Mega drugs along with some routine medication and the clerk tells me the price is $158!! AND I HAVE INSURANCE!! I don't even want to know what the price would have been had I not had insurance. I had $30 in cash in my wallet and about $100 left in my checking. Math skills check: 100+30 = 158??? Nope. Not even close.
For the first time in my life I experienced what it felt like to have to choose between a true rock and a hard place. Not a "oh, do I have McDonald's even though it's really not in my budget" choice, but a "will they cut off my electricity if I get choose to get medication that might save my life with this money instead of paying the electric bill?" choice. I can honestly say that if you have never stood at the Walgreen's pharmacy counter with a line of people behind you that can hear every word spoken and ask the pharmacist which medication you can live without; you have no idea the humiliation and hurt that comes with this choice. I stood there fighting with every ounce of courage I could muster, trying to retain what little shred of my dignity I still had as I paid for what I could afford. It took the sheer strength of God to get my feet to carry me out of the store without collapsing, crying into a fetal position. As I walked out, I put my last fifty cents into the Salvation Army kettle. Somewhere, someone will need that 50 cents as much as I just had a few minutes earlier.
I now know what it feels like to lose your self worth and try to retain some dignity; and it's not a warm fuzzy. I have a feeling that until I can recover from the changes that have been occurring in my life, I will have a more than a few of these moments. It sucks. For lack of a more mature adult term, it really sucks. It's like having the wind knocked out of you, and the person who delivered the punch is someone you know and love. And it feels like the world is sitting in judgement of you and finding you guilty even though you know you are innocent.
So this Christmas season, when you go to buy another needless thing for that Great Aunt Sally you never really liked and don't talk to except once a year. Take a moment to be grateful you have the ability to make that choice and aren't faced with the decision between a Maslow's need and a Macy's need. That the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come will show you "God Bless Us Everyone" and not the feted face of Jacob Marley in your dreams. I was not mindful of the spirit of my choice to keep up with the Jones. I wasn't grateful that I had the ability to choose. I never was grateful and now I wish I had been.
So to all, I wish with a grateful heart a Merry Christmas.
God Bless Us Everyone.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Last Sunday, I met a Blog-friend!! You guys, this was sooooo cool. There is so much to tell you'all, so don't lose me here.
First, I met Caps through our blogs and Ravelry. Oh and she is a way better knitter than I am! Not to mention the girl kicks Martha Stewart ass when it comes to getting the Christmas decorations done, cards mailed, presents knitted (yes, I said knitted), crafty decorations made and her own personal four disk set of rockin' Christmas carols. Me? Yeah, not so much. If you get your card before Valentine's Day, think of it as my way of extending the holidays just a little bit longer.
Anyway, after many moons of blog-talking and my joyful winning of a personal copy of the said four disk Christmas set, Caps and I thought it would be great to meet IRL. Being that we are both residing in the same town and all.
First off, you all, it's kind of weird to meet some one you know, but don't know, but want to know, but are afraid they won't like you, but don't really know. And what if you don't like them? And what if they are really just a front for some psycho-cyber-stalking ring that withholds Ho-ho's and xanax from unsuspecting first year teachers?? And did I mention, I was REALLY afraid she wouldn't like me?
I mean, it's kind of like a blind date that your mutual friend sets you up on. And has told you all the details about the person, but forgets to mention the really important things...like the name. True story, I didn't know Caps' name!! I only knew her as Cappydoodles!! (Which makes for an odd moment when you first meet.)
Well, it turns out that Caps is way too cute and cool. (And I don't think she would ever withhold any Ho-ho's or Xans, thank GAWD!!) We chatted, knitted, and ogled yarn. She told me where she was from and I told her about my mouse adventures in Houston. Turns out Caps has a handbag problem as well. I KNEW I would like this girl! Although we were good and didn't buy any new knitting bags, or yarn. (Damn you, Budget!!) She did try to convince me that knitting socks was easy, but I am not too sure...
So, how did it go, you might ask? Did she like me? I think so and I made her blog for the day! That must be a good sign. Ms. Tastrophie has to say that she has never been that confident when she meets people for the first time. Honestly, I talk a blue streak out of nerves and people have been known to gnaw their own arms off in order to escape. Me? Did I like her? Oh Hell Yeah!! She knits, she decorates, she makes jello-shots in actual syringes. What could you not like?!?! (Cappydoodles ~ can't wait for the next time! I have to try that jello-shot idea.)
Now, all I have to do is meet:
... And many more (but it's late and I need to BS my way through another lesson plan.)
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Dear Makers of Fancy Feast Wet Cat Food:
As my eldest cat ~ Toothless is, well, toothless (save for the four little things masquerading as teeth in the front of his mouth), I have given into the guilt and purchased your fine wet cat food for several years now. (Truly, you should be thanking the Jewish relatives somewhere in my family tree, because this guilt thing is totally making you bank!)
Recently Toothless has upped the guilt ante and I have been purchasing your Fancy Feast Elegant Medleys. As I am fairly certain that neither of my fine feline friends can read, and since they also lick each other's ass (as well as their own), I am sure they don't care if it is the Tuscan Blend or Florentine Delight they are savoring as long as it is wet and in the cat bowl. Which leads me to ask, "What the hell do you put in this shit"? Because what goes in smells NOTHING like what comes out of my cats.
OH MY GAWD PEOPLE CAN YOU SMELL THIS SHIT??? No really. SMELL. THIS. SHIT!!! I have no way of describing it. I have been to third world countries that use a hole in the ground as a public toilet and that smelled better than what my cats mass produce after eating your product. I have three year old paint peeling off the walls around the litter box from the fumes this shit emits. The Special Forces are petitioning Congress to fund my kitten's shit as weapons of mass destruction or at the very least a form of Biological Warfare. Ohhhhhh MMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYY GAAAAAAWWWWWWD!!!
You would not believe the power of this shit. I have been in a dead, xanax-and-hoho-overdose-coma type sleep and one little drop of this shit has been enough to wake me. It brought tears to the UPS man's eyes the other day as he was delivering a package. The litter box is two rooms away and has a cover on it!! Not to mention, I had to "blame it on the cats" in front of a complete stranger, who by the way, would not take me up on my offer to come in and smell it for himself. (Note: recently learned that the UPS man has requested another route ~ preferably one without crazy farting cat ladies.)
I only bring this up because, seriously, the odor is beginning to make me wonder if I should be whisking the kitties to the vet for some sort of emergency bowl surgery. Really? Did something die in there? Or is this what you intended when you did the R&D on culinary wet cat food? Is this some sort of sick twisted lesson you are trying to teach us about spending more money on cat food than on human food? And since I have been such a loyal customer, would it be too much to ask if you put a little sprig of mint or something in there? Maybe a touch of pine? Hell, I would settle for Country Linen at this point.
P.s. The Shit count is this is high and if I offended your delicate sensibilities... I apologize.